


In the Heart of the Willow

by Venturous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Community: snuna_exchange, Dream Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venturous/pseuds/Venturous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a difficult visit to the Dark Lord, Severus finds the strength to carry on, with a little help from a friend. Set during HBP. Originally posted May 11, 2009 in Snuna Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Heart of the Willow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mundungus42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mundungus42/gifts).



**The Heart of the Willow**

He landed hard, twisting his ankle, and gasped as he fell against the gnarled roots of the tree. Crumpled in pain, he didn’t move fast enough to avoid the lashing branch, and it swiped him like a slap across the face. Severus scrambled for a footing and groped for that one root that will calm the great tree until he can locate the entry to the tunnel below. The swinging branches seethe and lash at him, and one wraps around his leg and pulls, and he panics, thinking that he will not make it; that what the dark lord's minions began earlier tonight, this damnable tree will finish, and he laughed at the absurdity of dying suspended head down from a homicidal willow tree. And he remembered another incident, long ago, where he was hung from a tree, helpless.

A particularly large limb clobbered him on the head, and he sank into merciful blackness.

When he first awakens, he thinks he might dead. Bathed in a golden light an angel sits gazing at him with beatific smile, her golden hair cascading down like a heavenly cloak. He tried, and failed to focus his eyes, and instead just breathed in the unearthly calm and beauty. A soft hand caressed his hair, his face, trailing over his stubbled cheek, smoothing the black hair away from his face. Her touch feels silken, musical. He sighed and drifts off to sleep again.

But troubled dreams return, and he cried out: "Lily! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it, Lily, please, you know I love you, please, please come back." He reached out blindly, tears streaming down his face, lank hair clinging to his pale skin. He has never felt more wretched, and wished a hole in the earth would just swallow him entirely. "Shhh, shhh" comes a voice so soft, it could be the wind, or the delicate branches of a spring willow. Gentle hands took his forearms and schooled them into a calmer pose, and soft lips touched his forehead. He tried to breathe, and croaks a sob from his parched throat. "Oh, Lily!"

"Sh sh" came the soft voice again, not Lily, she whispered. "It's OK, you will be alright, just rest now, there, there" the voice just a breath of air, and then her lips brushed his, just as he slipped over the edge into sleep.

She watched him throughout the night, making sure his ribs still rise and fall, and soothing him when he begins to dream again. She is so glad that she thought to come here, after collecting her willow branches and puss moth cocoons. It is such a peaceful place, here under the great tree. But she had felt the willow rising up in fury, and had gone up just in time to rescue poor Professor Snape before the enraged tree tore him limb from limb.

She ran her wand over his wounds again, and was satisfied that the healing was progressing. The man had a severely sprained ankle, several deep gashes as well as many bruises and welts, most sustained _before_ the tree got hold of him. Wherever he had been, they weren’t very nice to him. She smoothed his limp hair, and gazed at his face, now peaceful. He is really quite beautiful, she thought. But people just don’t see it. 

:::

"Professor, you will sit up now, and sip this tea for me, won't you?" He opens an eye tentatively and peers at her. It is the angel. He slams his eyelids shut and tries to return to unconsciousness. " I thought when you were dead, that was it" he grumbles, clenching the bedclothes.

A musical giggle surprises him, and he cracks an eyelid again, squinting at the golden figure. "You are not dead, Professor. Now, sit up for me please." He gazes at her in wonder, at the fairies flitting around her head, at the cool ice blue of her eyes, and her tender smile.

Well, maybe being dead isn’t so bad.

He accepts the warm cup and sniffs it's pale green contents. Green tea, he believes, but also something else. He wonders if an angel would poison him. Well, if he is dead, it shouldn’t matter, should it? He sips tentatively. Bitter but enlivening, and a bit on the yellow side for a _camelia sinenesis_ , but it tastes good, and so he drinks.

"That’s good, Professor." She smiles at him, and it was as if the sun came out. His eyes focus a bit, and he studies her face, and yes, she does look sort of familiar, but he can’t say why. She takes the cup from him. "The _Salix Vitellina_ with Harpies will help you look on the brighter side, Professor, and that will make everything better."

Severus recognizes the name of willow, and at the mention of mythical creatures he suddenly realizes who the angel really is. "Miss Lovegood!" He blurts. "Yes, professor. So, you are really awake now, oh, this is most excellent. The Harpies will be so pleased!" She bends down to him, cascade of golden hair showering over him and she brushes his cheek with a kiss. Moths flutter out of her hair, and he swipes at one. "Now there, professor, you mustn't swat the Harpies!"

Exhausted, he falls back against the pillows. He looks around the room and realizes he is in the Shrieking Shack. She has transformed some old chairs into a comfortable bed, a chair and a bedside table, as well as soft pillows and linens. There are even curtains at the dusty windows, a golden sheer linen that makes the dreary light feel more wholesome. A spray of blossoming forsythia branches stands cheerfully in a slender vase. It’s remarkable, the place is almost pleasant.

"You must sleep." she says matter-of-factly, and so he does.

:::

In his dream, they are high on a mountain side, and the clouds are racing by. She stands pressed close to him, and he holds her arm as if to steady her. They watch the clouds grow darker, more ominous, and begin to crowd out the vast blue of the sky. He thinks they look like warships gathering for battle.

He looks into her face, her hair floating on the wind, her eyes piercing blue and so very alive. She reaches up and pulls him into a kiss. Her golden light pours into him, it's remarkable, this effervescent joy, as if delight were right there for the taking. As if you could just _be_ love, and it would be enough. He runs his fingers through her hair, and caresses her face, and sinks into the kiss. He runs his hands over her shoulders, her ribs, the curve of her hips, then his hands rise over her silken belly, rising to the swell of her breasts and cupping the soft fullness of them.

She whispers a spell and his buttons fall through their holes, and she slides her cool small hands under his shirt, his nipples hardening at her touch. She spreads his garment open and presses against him, her cloak is gone now, too, and he feels the downy softness of her chest against his, and wraps his arms around her as if to pull her into his heart. He feels himself rising, hardening, yes, but oddly as if energy is rising from the mountain into his limbs, driving out pain and weariness, infusing his very bones with fierce joy and strength.

"Severus," she breathes into his ear, and it is as if the air itself is her breath, and it swirls around them like the racing clouds, the waving grasses, as if weaving their magic together. He gasps as she slides to her knees, trailing her tongue on his skin along her descent, and as she nuzzles his wiry hair and ruddy cock he can feel her smile. She takes him like a bird in her hands, reverent, and kisses him there with a warm wet mouth, and he pushes into her, throwing his head back, his hair trailing in the wind, his lungs drawing in the sky's blue and the rock's grey in great gulps. And he expands like the sky above. And then comes back into his body as if he were nothing but cock, the sensation of her swirling tongue is so exquisite.

He doesn’t want to finish here, there is more that he wants that he craves, and his hands glide along her arms to her hands, holding him, and her mouth, loving him, and although it seems the last thing in the world he should want to do at this moment, he gently raised her up. "I must see your face, my beautiful angel." She smiles at him, and follows his lead, slithering up his body without breaking contact, so that her breasts caress his prick, then her belly, and then her own fur and slippery cunt.

He lifts her and she wraps her willowy limbs around him, and squirms until he can thrust into her, He lets her fall onto him and she writhes, swaying and dancing on his prick. He gathers himself under her and feels the mountain strength rising through him, thrusting into her molten core, and she is the wind and the sun streaming around him, breathing with a sing-song gasp of joy with every thrust.

He feels her clenching him as her rhythm gains speed, and matches his pace to hers. His hands splayed across her haunches he lifts her then lets her fall onto his thrust. He groans with the effortless effort and as she begins to shudder he pulses into her. Her small hands clutch his hair, and she moans into his mouth, her thighs quivering. They sink to the ground still entwined, onto the softness of meadow grass and woolen cloaks. He nuzzles her hair as she snuggles against him, their hearts pounding together.

:::

When he awakened he finds himself in the bloody Shrieking Shack with a very naked student sleeping in his arms. Years of careful spying have trained him to show no sign of alarm, or he might have panicked and dumped her out of bed. But, accustomed as he was to dangerous predicaments, he lay there without moving a hair and contemplated his situation.

Tentatively he moved his limbs, gently dislodging her entwining arms. She murmured in half sleep something about pleasing the Harpies, and opened her remarkable eyes. She really does glow when she smiles, he thought, and while he is admiring her she reached out to caress his face.

"Ms. Lovegood, this is completely inappropriate!" He removed her hand from his face, and tugs the bedclothes up to cover her. She yawned and stretched, and the coverlet fell away and he cannot help but drink the sight of her breasts. He sighs. She smiles.

"You feel better, Professor." It is not a question. He turned away, the only way he can unlock his gaze. "Yes." He flexed his limbs and determined that his wrenched ankle was completely mended, and the cuts and welts from yesterday's beating were also gone. In fact, he felt better than he had in a very long time. "It's the Harpies, you know. They help me brew the willow tincture, and their magic adds a great deal in the process."

"Please get dressed Ms. Lovegood. We need to get you back to the castle before your first class." As he pulled on his shirt and smooths his robes in place, despite the many tears and stains he feels some modicum of control returning. Praying she is now clothed, he turned to look at her, and felt his heart open. She was wearing her schoolgirl skirt and Ravenclaw tie, and holding in her hand not a fairie but a moth, a speckled brown moth of the species _Harpyia >_

_This girl is not so daft as she might seem. But at this moment she looked so very young._

_"Luna," he said tenderly. "I am so very grateful for your healing magic. You are a most gifted witch, and I fervently hope that after this wretched war you are able to make excellent use of your talent for potions. But at this moment, we have a very serious difficulty on our hands." She looked downcast, as if she wished she could argue. "I understand, Professor. We have a ways to go yet, don’t we?"_

_"Yes, Luna, you must forget about this. And do everything you in your considerable power to help Harry and the DA. You must understand, In order to do what I have to do, there cannot be any inkling that I serve the side of Light. This will become painfully clear in due course, I am afraid."_

_She stood, smoothing her skirt, and raised her eyes to his, studying him carefully. He is memorizing her face in this moment. He longed to take her in his arms and kiss her, to tell her how incredible she is, to hold her close to his heart. He felt a pang of angry helpless longing, and a stab of fear for her safety. He drew on his magic and grounded himself as he gazed into her face._

_"I understand, Professor." She handed him his wand. "You are restored to health now. I have done my best to make sure you can carry on. Do what it is you must do."_

_He smiled at her, and she at him as he raised his wand._

_"Obliviate."_

_:::_

**Author's Note:**

>  **Thanks to my lovely betas,** carpet_diemon and jin_fenghuang
> 
> Written for Mundungus42 from the Prompt: _Severus encounters Luna whilst hiding in a tree. Please choose an interesting tree._
> 
>  **on the use of Willow as a healing remedy:**  
>  Willow _Salix Vitellina_ is the Bach Flower Remedy for people who feel resentful and bitter about the way their lives have gone. The remedy is given to encourage the rebirth of optimism and faith, and to help the person in the negative state to be more generous in praise of others and also more aware of how his own negative thinking can attract the very ill-fortune that he blames on others.
> 
>  **How we Muggles benefit from willow magic, from Wikipedia:**  
>  The active ingredient in willow bark, prescribed since the time of Hippocrates, is salicin, which is converted in the body into salicylic acid. The discovery of salicylic acid eventually lead to the development of acetylsalicylic acid, also known as "aspirin."
> 
>  **On Harpies in mythology, from Wikipedia:**  
>  In Greek mythology, a harpy ("snatcher",from Latin: harpȳia, Greek: ἅρπυια, harpūia) was one of the winged death-spirits.  
> The harpy could also bring life. A harpy was the mother by the West Wind Zephyros of the horses of Achilles.  
> Though Hesiod calls them two "lovely-haired" creatures, harpies as beautiful winged bird-women are a late development, in parallel with the transformation of the siren, a "creature malign though seductive in Homer, but gradually softened by the Athenian imagination into a sorrowful death angel."
> 
>  **On the Puss Moth _Harpyia umbrosa_**  
>  Found in willow trees trhoughout Europe. [The Harpy Moth](http://www.jpmoth.org/%7Edmoth/Mikunikai080628/75_Notodontidae/Harpyia%20umbrosa_080628290.jpg)


End file.
